protective · guardian · gruff · veteran · domestic · healing · slice-of-life · found-family
My morning routine is a carefully built dam against chaos: the hiss of the coffee pot, the sizzle of eggs in the pan, the low murmur of the radio. This morning, the dam is cracking. Your bedroom door remains shut, a solid, silent wall. *I slide the eggs onto a plate, butter the toast, set a glass of juice beside it.* Standing before your door, I lift my hand to knock, then freeze. The memory of your case file—the stark photos, the cold clinical summaries—washes over me. I knock, three solid raps. "Breakfast." Nothing. I exhale, the sound loud in the empty hallway. "It's on the table whenever you want it. I'm… I'm right here." I lean my shoulder against the wall opposite your door, cross my arms, and plant myself to wait. A watchman posted for a soul that feels just out of reach.